La Fille Danse
by rettevronnoc
Summary: Foreigners. They're more trouble than they're worth. DerekOFC and mentioned CaseySam NOW UPDATED!
1. I Don't Know if I'm Wrong

**Title** La Fille Danse (translation will be found at the end of the _story_. NOT the chapter--the STORY)  
**Rating** PG-13 _for now_  
**Notes/Warnings/Kinks **None for this chapter. Translations can be found at the bottom. Oh--this is going to be an EPIC, ladies and gents. Therefore, I'm going to take my time building up the dynamics. If you're in for the long haul, I can make this awesome. Know that I'm a FEEDBACK-WHORE. I love hearing what you guys have to say, even if it's negative, so PLEASE feel free to tell me anything. Thanks in advance.  
**Pairing **Derek/OFC, mentioned Casey/Sam

* * *

"I can give you a ride." He smirks, overhearing his step-sister's conversation with her friend as he leans against her locker. "Casey and I don't live far from you, right?"

Casey sighs and closes her locker, "You know, Derek, there are a lot better things to do than stalk my friends and me."

"Oh, trust me, I _know_." His eyes narrow slightly as she throws him a sarcastic smile, and all the meanwhile, her friend is caught in the middle of the crossfire.

"Thanks anyway, Derek, but I think I'm just going to walk." Ignoring the step-siblings' fight, Johanna runs a hand through her dark, _dark _brown locks, moving the layers back from her face. The lace detailing of her royal blue tank top is revealed by the V-neck of her black sweater, bringing out her deep, ocean blue eyes.

"Your loss," Derek says with a shrug, turning his attention to a passing redhead that giggles as he winks at her.

"But, Johanna," Casey makes _sure _to pronounce the "jo" as a "yo" and roll her "a" just a tad bit so that it comes out as "Yo-hah-na" and not "Jo-han-ah", a mistake she made when she first spoke to the transfer student, "It's freezing outside!"

The other girl laughs, patting Casey's shoulder, "Case, I think you're forgetting—I moved here from _Germany_. This—this is _not _cold. Besides, it's only October," Her "c" comes out as a thick "k", revealing the accent which usually isn't noticeable, "The weather is at its best right now."

"Come on, Klutzilla, or I'm leaving without you."

Casey exchanges a few more words with her friend before joining Derek in walking the opposite direction from Johanna. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her pull out a black beanie and slip it over her straight locks, shoving her hands in her pockets. He knows that they're in Canada, and it's pretty cold, and that Johanna's used to worse, but something tells him that after spending a summer in such heat, she _is _going to mind the cold after all. So, in a last minute, completely un-Derek-like, chivalrous decision, he turns around,

"Jo!" The nickname, which, unlike her full name, is pronounced as plain old Jo, echoes through the halls. The young girl turns, eyebrows cocked.

"Yeah?"

"You sure you don't want a ride?"

Johanna looks at the doors behind her before looking back at Derek. After a short moment, she smiles softly, "Nah, really, I'll be fine. Thanks, though."

* * *

Derek may not know her as well as Casey, but he knows her well enough to know that _she _knows all the answers to the questions the French teacher is asking. She's just modest enough not to answer them.

That _kills _him. He wants to know how she does it. Casey is always the first to have her hand in the air, answer prompt and ready like an essay question. When Derek doesn't know the answer, which is most of the time, he shouts out something random and funny that makes the class laugh and pisses off the teacher. But Johanna just sits in her desk with a small smile that never seems to leave, eyes focused on the teacher as her head dips towards the window that's providing the sunlight streaming over her.

Casey told him that the reason she's so fucking _good _at French is because she grew up in Rhineland-Palatinate, the westernmost state of Germany, which happens to border France. Apparently, German schools start foreign languages in 3rd or 4th grade and students take on more as they graduate each level of school.

All Derek can say is that it sucks to be a German kid.

"Mr. Venturi—care to answer the question?"

His head snaps towards the teacher as he searches his head for what the hell they were just talking about. Coming up with nothing, he shakes his head, "Uh…no."

Mr. Portiere sighs, "How 'bout paying attention, alright, Derek? Johanna, would you translate, please?"

Johanna locks eyes with Derek, laughing softly before turning her attention back to Mr. Portiere and speaking ever-so-fluently, "_Dans lequel section de Paris est la Tour de Eiffel_?"

"_Fantastique_!" Mr. Portiere says with a wide grin, nodding towards her before turning to the rest of the class and repeating the phrase as he writes it on the board.

Johanna turns back to look at him, and he habitually sends a suave grin in her direction. Another soft laugh escapes her mouth, although this one sounds more like a scoff, before she shakes her head and turns back to face the board.

Venturi charm was no match for _das Deutsches Kind_.

The bell rings, but Derek already knows what he's in for. He'll be asked to stay in, get a tutor, and borrow someone's notebook, guaranteed.

Mr. Portiere cleans the board. "Derek, please stay. You too, Johanna."

Johanna's hands freeze over her book bag. Her head snaps to Mr. Portiere, head cocked to the side, "What did I do?"

"Nothing," the tall, Vietnamese man replies, "I want you to tutor Derek."

The words don't really connect with Derek simply because he is too busy wondering how a Vietnamese man could become a French teacher. Of course, he figured if one could learn a language well enough to speak it, they were fine teaching it. But he could have learned it from some weird Vietnamese teacher who taught it the wrong way and then the class—

"_What_?"

"Derek, if you don't get some help, you'll be off the hockey team. Is that what you really want?"

"Well…no…but I don't need a tutor! Come on, Mr. Portiere! One more shot! Please!"

Johanna looks between the two, waiting. Mr. Portiere strokes his chin. Derek wonders why a Vietnamese man has the last name Portiere.

"_One _shot, Derek. Either you get an A on this quiz Friday, or you get a tutor. Deal?"

A sigh of relief escapes him, "Deal." And, when he reaches the door, he can't help but ask, "Hey, Mr. Portiere? Where'd you get your last name from?"

The man looks up from his desk, face weary, and shakes his head. "Go home, son. Go home."

* * *

She lets out a heavy sigh as she searches through her locker, "I thought you didn't _want _any help, Derek."

"I don't." He replies with a shrug.

"Then why are you asking me?"

"Because if you help me with this _one _quiz, I can breeze my way through the rest of the year. I just have to maintain a C, after all. Even _I _can do that. But I have to make a 100 on this quiz or else I'm done. For the season." She doesn't respond, so he drops to his knees and laces his fingers together, prayer fashion, "_Please_, Johanna, for the love of God…and hockey!"

Johanna slams her locker and looks at him, her eyes search his face, trying to figure out if this is actually a joke or not. He feels as though he's under the microscope, almost, because the dark blue orbs dart quickly, studying the brown eyes and full lips of the young man. For a fleeting moment, Derek wishes he had that kind of discernment, that ability to pay so much attention to detail.

Then he notices that the redhead is back and leaning against his locker.

"…And you haven't been listening to a word I've been saying, have you?"

Derek doesn't even realize she's been talking to him this entire time. He's been too busy undressing the red head with his eyes. Shaking his head a little, he blinks, "What?"

Johanna sighs again, "Where's Casey?"

"She and Emily hit the mall or something." The girl's face falls a bit, but she quickly regains her…

She has a very attractive pout, he notices. Very, very attractive…no, no. She's Casey's friend. That's automatic points off on the Venturi meter of Hotness. Besides, she's foreign. That's just weird. Sure, there's a bit of European exoticness in the fullness of her lips and her eyes, and the darkness of her hair, and the sensual, luscious curves of her petite body, but…Derek completely forgets where he's going with this.

"And you're _still _not listening, are you?" She scoffs and walks away as he's forced to shake his head again and jog to catch up to her.

"Come on, Jo! Please?"

"You know, if you _really _wanted me to tutor you, you're making a horrible first impression."

"Well," He puts on a typical Derek Venturi smirk, "How was my _real _first impression?"

Johanna stops walking, eyebrows cocked and slightly knitted together, "You're kidding, right? It was worse than the one you're making now!" When Derek opens his mouth to protest, she waves her hands, signaling him to stop. "You said Casey was out with Emily?"

"Yeah."

"…An hour, Derek. But that's all."

* * *

Translations

_**Dans lequel section de Paris est la Tour de Eiffel**_ In what part of Paris is the Eiffel Tower?

**_Fantastique _**Fantastic!_  
_

_**das Deutsches Kind** _the German kid


	2. Cause She's Only Just Gone

**Title** La Fille Danse**  
Rating** PG-13 _for now; _later, the rating will be changed to M. (R)**  
Notes/Warnings/Kinks **Cussing, but that's not unexpected, really. Once again, translations at the bottom. Sorry it's moving kind of slow, but I promised an EPIC, did I not? Eh...I'll get on to the relationship soon enough. It's better not to rush things, right? I think the most enjoyable time of writing relationships is that awkward time when you're floating back from liking to not liking to liking...uh...yeah. Enjoy.

Also, a thank you to **TheEvilKillerRabbit** for pointing out my das/die mistake. I'm pretty good at German and usually don't make those mistakes, but I'm SO glad that you were able to point it out to me! (A writer of COURSE feels a bit stupid when they're writing in another language and can't even get small things like ARTICLES right!)

**Pairing **Derek/OFC, mentioned Casey/Sam

* * *

"Look, I can't make this any easier. It's really not that hard."

"If it's not that hard, then _why _don't I get it?"

"Maybe you should reassess your ability to learn."

"…Are you trying to insult me?"

"Yes."

"Oh." He pauses, looking down at his notebook before looking back up at her, "Hey!"

"Alright, look," She moves beside him, taking his notebook and pencil out of his hand, "It all goes back to the Latin. When you have an accusative direct object, all you have to do is…"

Johanna goes on to show him how to decline a noun and how to translate and all that good stuff, but he doesn't really pay attention. He's too focused on how focused _she _is. How her hand flows over the paper, writing down letters and words he doesn't know. He's too concentrated on the way her jaw line moves when she speaks, the way her face changes when she says certain things, the _smidge _of an accent that, despite her best efforts, seems to show up one way or another.

When she leans over again, this time reaching for a pen in his back pack, he can't help but take in the smell of clean laundry and lotus blossoms that seem to linger ever-so-faintly around her.

"_Verflucht noch mal_, Derek! Are you even listening to me?"

"Yes!" He almost yelps, looking up at her as she throws his binder on the ground and stands.

They're stuck inside her crappy little apartment, with it's kitchen leading into the living area and a bathroom and bedroom behind closed doors. Underneath the window is a couch, and in front of the couch is a coffee table, where they've been working for the past half an hour. On the opposite wall, books are lined up in bookshelves and a TV sits in the corner, the screen flickering scenes from some trashy talk show. She starts shouting in German, and once again Derek zones out. Johanna fills a glass of water up at the sink in the kitchen on the other end of the room,

"_... Und wenn du der Quiz am Freitag versagst, machst du es auf mir nicht verantwortlich! Hörst du mich?_"

"YOU'RE TALKING IN ANOTHER LANGUAGE!" He shouts, throwing his head back against the couch and throwing his hands in the air. "_Je ne vous comprends pas_, ya' damn Nazi!"

Johanna places her glass on the counter and stares at him with a blank expression.

_Oh, shit…_He can't feel like any more of an idiot. Calling a German a Nazi isn't exactly the _best _way to go about sleeping with her.

Of course, that doesn't matter, because Derek doesn't want to sleep with her. He doesn't like his women smart and independent and ferocious. He likes 'em dumb, and not expecting commitment, and only in for it for the sex, like him. Not witty or funny. Not Johanna.

"Derek!" And for some reason she's rushing into the room, a smile on her face, "Derek! That…that was French!"

"What?" He lifts his head from the couch, confused. Oh, so, confused…

"That was French! _Je ne vous comprends pas_! It's French!" Her smile is so wide, eyes sparkling and she's got her hands sprawled out in the air as she _tries _to explain the phenomenon of what just happened.

"It's…it's French—HOLY SHIT! IT'S FRENCH!" He jumps up, more than excited to realize that he's just accomplish something in a day that he hasn't been able to do all year. Out of pure excitement, breaks out into song and dance, "I can speak French—oh yeah; I can speak French —oh yeah! I can speak French!"

"Well, you can't _speak _it, but you certainly are doing better than you were an hour ago."

"And it's all thanks to you!" In the excitement of what just happened, Derek finds himself hugging her and swinging her around.

When her feet touch the ground, the clears her throat and straightens out her sweater, mumbling in a sing song voice,"Awwwwwwkwaaaaard."

"Uh…" He scratches his head, unsure of what to do now, "Hey, I can speak French!"

* * *

"So…who were you thinking about taking to Heather Sinclair's Halloween party?"

"Heather Sinclair."

Sam laughs, shaking his head, "Nah, really, dude. Who?"

"I don't know. I haven't really thought about it. Maybe Shelby?"

"Oh."

"What about you?"

Sam searches the halls, shrugging, "I was _thinking _about asking that Sam Smitherton, but Johanna Steiger seems like she'd be cool to take, too."

Derek chokes on his own saliva, throwing himself into a hacking fit.

"Woah, man—you okay?"

He waves Sam away, gasping out, "Fine."

"You don't, like…_like _her, do you?"

"Me? Johanna?" He glances down the hall at the girl's locker, watching her as she chats it up with Casey, "Nah. You just…shocked me. From Casey to her newest friend? Don't you think that's a little…harsh?"

Sam's face falls, "I didn't think about that. Maybe you're right. I mean, I wouldn't want to upset Casey…wait a minute. Since when have you cared about—?"

"Go on, big fella'!" He claps Sam on the shoulder, although he doesn't look away from his step-sister and her friend, "Upset Klutzilla! Who cares?"

"Riiiight. You know, Derek, you might want to go home. You don't look too good." The bell rings, and Sam nods before jogging off in the opposite direction.

"Yeah," Derek closes his locker, slinging his book bag over his shoulder, "I don't feel too good, either."

* * *

"Come _on_, Nurse Kay! Can't you see I'm sick as a _dog_? I'm dying, here! Literally _dying_! Just let me go home! Please!"

"Alright, alright, Mr. Venturi. Just let go of my coat."

Derek lets go of the white lab coat, eyes and lips still forming a perfect puppy-dog-pout. "Thank you, Nurse Kay. You're the best." The nurse nods and smiles sarcastically before walking out of the room.

"Derek?"

Oh, no…

He gulps. "Yes, Mr. Portiere?"

"Leaving early, are we?"

"Yeah, I uh—I don't feel too hot." Derek coughs, trying _so _hard to look sick. Maybe _too _hard.

"Well why don't you take my quiz before you leave, eh, son?"

"Sounds…_fantastique_."

* * *

Translations

**_Verflucht noch mal!_** For Christ's sake! (Goddamn it!)

_.**.. Und wenn du der Quiz am Freitag versagst, machst du es auf mir nicht verantwortlich! Hörst du mich?**_...And when you fail the quiz on Friday, don't blame it on me! Do you hear me?_  
_

_**Je ne vous comprends pas! **I don't understand you!_


	3. Here's To Another Relationship

**Title** La Fille Danse

**Rating** PG-13, rated M starting next chapter.

**Notes/Warnings/Kinks **Talks about sex and slight BDSM. PLEASE NOTE THAT STARTING NEXT CHAPTER, THIS FIC WILL BE RATED M. Wo! Anywho, other notes...um...nope. Translations at the end, as always.

**Pairing **Derek/OFC, mentioned Casey/Sam, and mentioned Derek/OOFC in this chapter.

* * *

_What is your name?_

Mon nom est Derek Venturi.

_Please translate the following sentences. Where is your house?_

Shit. Okay. Think…just….think. Yeah.

Okay. House. What's the damn word for house? What did Johanna say about William the Conqueror? He was…he was some French guy! French words…England…MAISON!

_-- -- maison est?_

Where…oh, jeeze. Once of those wacky "q" words. Qu…qu…qui! No, no—that's who. But it sounds like it would be qui? No, we…où!

_Où votre maison est?_

This is going to be easier than he thought.

* * *

"Mm…Derek…that was the best you've been all month. What's gotten into you?" Shelby giggles, tossing her red hair over her shoulder. Derek's eyes are clenched closed as he rides out the ecstasy of his orgasm, allowing it to rip through his body and shake him to the core.

He doesn't tell Shelby whose name was on the tip of his tongue when he peaked.

"Aced…my…French…test." He pants, rolling over and pushing himself off the bed, grabbing a tee-shirt off the floor to clean himself up.

"French, huh?" Shelby throws the covers back, revealing her flushed, pale body, and suddenly Derek's no longer glad he stayed home from the family outing. Norah said he was too sick. Derek thought he was too horny. "_Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir_?" She giggles again, singing the words off-pitch and holding the notes too long as though trying to impersonate Christina.

He looks at her, a grin on his face. "No. Now get out."

Shelby pouts, her thin, chapped lips trying their best to be sexy. It's just not working for Derek, though. "You're no fun."

"Derek?"

Someone knocks at his door, and Shelby, knowing the routine, throws on her dress as fast as possible. No bra, no underwear to worry about. Derek told her to come prepared.

That voice sounds all too familiar to him, though. It sounds like…like…

"Derek? It's Jo."

He swings the door open, revealing Shelby wrapping a tentative hand around his bare shoulder. He feels stupid in his plaid pajama pants, but at least he's got _those _on.

"Jo? What are you doing here?"

She laughs gently, looking at Shelby, "I came to congratulate you on your French quiz, but I can see you've already celebrated."

"Nah," He says, throwing Shelby's hand off him, "Shelby was dropping off some missed work. She was just leaving. Right, Shelby?"

The red head pouts, but leaves, and Derek lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding it. Then it all falls back to him—this was _Casey's_ friend, a girl he was supposed to despise and taunt just like he did his step sister.

"Well, I just wanted to tell you good job. And Mr. Portiere wanted me to bring you this," She hands him his slip to return to the hockey team.

Oh, thank you dear Lord and Mr. Portiere.

"So I guess I'll just see you tomorrow."

"Yeah. Thanks."

* * *

"I hate you." She growls, eyes narrowed in pure loathing.

"Tell me about it." He demands, hot breath tickling the sensitive skin on her ear.

"I fucking _hate _you, Venturi. You're scum on the bottom of the feeding chain. I hope you realize that you'll never mean _anything _to anyone but yourself." Johanna is unbelievably focused on hurting him, on making him feel like trash, like he's unwanted, and it's so damn hot.

Jo's lips are swollen and bruised from his repeated assaults, and he can't help but nip at them again. She groans a deep, throaty groan, and it's enough to make his eyes roll back into his head. Then, her hips buck against his, and he elicits his own moan.

"A little weak, are we, Derek?" It's a sneer, and he attacks her mouth again, tongue sliding in and out against hers. He reaches down and places his hand on her jeans, over that ever-so-sensitive area, and pushes up against her.

Jo throws her head back, moaning gently, "A little weak, are we, Jo?"

When their eyes meet, he realizes just how crazy he's driving her. Hands bound above her head and eyes half lidded, she pushes against him.

"Uh, uh, uh…not yet. You remember your half of the deal, right, Jo? If I ace the French test, I get to do _whatever _I want to you."

The heat between the two is crazy, and a single bead of sweat rolls down the side of her face. On the inside, Derek's going crazy, bulge already straining against his jeans as he watches her squirm and writhe underneath his touch. The picture is almost out of a fucking _movie_—she looks so wanton and desperate, and _knowing _that all of that desperation is for _him _and him _only_…why, it's enough to send a man to kingdom come in no time.

"Please," It's a half-whisper, half-moan when he traces the sensitive areas of her parts over the cotton panties she has on, "Derek…"

"Tell me you want me."

She looks him in the eye, truly speaking to him when she says it, "Derek—I want you. Please…"

When Shelby or Amber or any of those other girls say it, they're not saying it to Derek, they're saying it to their orgasms. They want to feel good. But Johanna—Johanna wants to feel Derek, and he knows that. It makes him feel _damn _special, too.

Then something beeps loudly, and Derek realizes one thing: if he doesn't wake the _fuck _up and wash all of this sweat and come off of him, he's going to be late to school.

* * *

What the hell is Sam doing talking to her?

_No, no, Venturi, get a grip. She's not yours. Guys—guys always have dreams about girls they don't want. It happens. You __don't like her. You're __not getting attached to her. She's pretty, and she'd be a good fuck if she wasn't…__her._

And then she laughs along with Sam, and Derek knows he's full of shit.

"So, Heather Sinclair's party…you going?" He hears his best friend ask.

He's never _ever _wanted to punch Sam as much as he does now.

"Nah. Seems kind of lame. At least, to me."

"What? Oh…yeah. Totally. Totally lame."

"Yeah, a complete snore-fest." He interjects, sliding in between his friend and his newest obsession.

Uh—er—_Johanna_.

"That's why _I_, Derek Venturi, am having the _coolest _Halloween party. The two of you are invited," He gives them each the fakest wink he can muster, "So, be dolls and, uh, spread the word, eh?"

They both chuckle, although Jo's the first to speak, "Um…alright, Derek. Whatever you say."

Sam seems slightly less amused, but Derek lets that slide off of his back. He's got other things to worry about.

* * *

Translations

_**Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir** _Do you want to sleep with me tonight? (The Christina reference is to Christina Aguilera, who, along with three other women, sing Lady Marmalade, which features _"voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir" _in the song.)_  
_


	4. Bombed by My Excellent Breed

**Title** La Fille Danse  
**Rating** PG-13--I lied about the M thing. I'll move it up later. Sorry 'bout that.  
**Notes/Warnings/Kinks **Some cussing, but I think that's it for this chapter. Sorry if this one sucks--I've been sick all week and this was all I could really get out. Next chapter will be better...hopefully.  
**Pairing **Derek/OFC, mentioned Casey/Sam

* * *

"Alright, look, Edwin. This is called Operation: Don't Let Sam Get the Girl. Got it?"

Edwin nods, sitting on Derek's bed, staring at the dry erase board in front of him, "So Sam's going after a girl you want?"

The older Venturi shakes his head furiously, spinning around in his swivel chair, "No, no, _no_. We just…don't want him with her. Understand?"

A big smile crosses the younger one's face, "Ye—no. Why does it matter if Sam gets with this girl?"

Hell, Derek doesn't even know. How is he supposed to explain this to Edwin?

"_Well, you see, Edwin, it's quite simple. I'm obsessed with this girl. There's nothing really special about her to be obsessed about—she's not outrageously hot or smart or funny. She's just normal. But I can't stop watching her. I can't **stop**, Edwin! I don't like her. I just…I just need her to be…without Sam, that's all."_

Yeah, that'd blow over _real _well.

"Because…Sam and I have a competition. I'll split the profits with you, 50/50. Deal?"

Now Edwin is smiling a genuine smile, nodding as he shakes Derek's hand, "Deal."

* * *

She's laughing when she opens the door, but that quickly calms down to somewhat of a frown, "Derek—what do you want?"

"Hi to you, too, Jo. Is Casey here?"

"Johanna? Who's there? Is it Jabari?" Casey's giggle echoes throughout the apartment, and Derek steps in, pushing past Johanna's arm that had previously guarded the entrance into her home.

"Jabari? What, is he like…your boyfriend or something?" He can only pray she doesn't sense his disappointment.

"Uh…no. Jabari is my brother and legal guardian. He's dropping in from Kenya."

"Kenya?" Derek plops down on her couch, amused at the image of Jo in a track team sweatshirt and blue plaid pajama pants not too much unlike his own. "You just have family everywhere, don't cha?"

"Jabari is my _only_ family," She explains calmly, folded her arms across her chest. Derek hears Casey sigh in the bathroom, and smells something that's oddly familiar to smoke, "He raised me between the states and Germany until this summer, when his job took him to Kenya. He was afraid it would be too dangerous for me, so he put me in the 'safest place he saw fit.'"

"Here?"

"Yeah," Jo sighs, looking around her apartment, "Here."

Derek waits a moment, then stands up, "Well, that's quite the Cinderella tale and all, but where is Casey? Nora wants me to bring her home."

That's only half true. Nora wants Casey home. She never said Derek had to go and get her. But, what are children with cars for, right?

"I'll be out in a minute, Derek!" Casey shouts, agitation nipping at her voice, "I want to see Jabari first."

Derek rolls his eyes, sitting back down, "Just don't take for-fucking-ever, alright, Klutz?" Then, he turns his attention back to Johanna, "How old is this dude anyway? Fifty or sixty something?"

"Fifty something? I'm starting to feel far too old at such a young age!" It's a thick, _thick _African accent, and a young, _very_ dark-skinned black man steps through the door.

"Jabbi!" The man drops his stuff in order to hug Johanna, who rushes to him and throws her arms around his broad shoulders.

Casey emerges from the bathroom, hair in a wild mess of curls and a big smile plastered on her face. For a fleeting moment, Derek wonders what the _fuck_ is so great about this guy and why don't people treat _him_ like that when he comes home?

"Hallo, Casey. It is nice to see you again." Jabari hugs Casey, and Derek's sure his own eye twitches. "Now, I don't believe you've introduced me to this young fellow, Nahna."

Nahna. What a…_cute_…nick name. He scowls internally.

"Oh!" Johanna pulls Derek from the couch, her fingers practically burning his skin when they make contact, "Derek, this is my brother, Jabari. Jabari, this is…Casey's brother, Derek."

"Derek," The man nods, shaking his hand, "It is a pleasure to meet you."

"Yeah, same." He tries to be polite with his smile and stuff, but he's seething with jealousy and a little perturbed by the fact that this guy is so fucking great and _why the fuck can't Derek be that great_?!

"I'm only 31, Derek," Jabari says with a full, deep laugh that actually sounds comforting.

"Nifty. Anywho, Case—you ready?"

His step-sister sighs, "Yeah, yeah, Derek. See you tomorrow, Johanna. It was nice to see you again, Jabari!"

"Oh, you too, Casey. Have a nice night, huh?"

Casey nods, "You too. Bye!"

She's out the door before he is.

* * *

"Fuck this. Look, Jo, I told you—I don't _know_ what you're saying. That's why you're supposed to be _tutoring_ me." Derek's starring at his latest quiz and the giant 14 circle at the top.

Fourteen out of one hundred points. It's so sad that it makes Derek sick.

"I'm fucking trying to, Derek!"

"Oh really?" His eyes widen and his head cocks to the side as Johanna stands from the ground, walking toward the kitchen, "Because it doesn't fucking look like—"

"Wanna know why it doesn't fucking 'look like it,' Derek?" She whips around and shouts back, nose flared and arms sprawled out at her sides, "Because you can't fucking pay _attention_! Get some goddamn _Ritalin_ and then _maybe _we'll get somewhere!"

"Let's not pass judgment here, little miss multi-lingual! If you would stop going so fucking fast and stop getting so goddamn upset when I don't understand things then maybe I could pay attention!"

The whole fight starts out over nothing. Johanna was moving a little too fast, it's true, but Derek could have kept up if he kept his attention focused. It's just when Jo starts shouting in French or German or even English that Derek gets upset. If he knew what the hell she was saying and knew how to shout _back_, maybe he wouldn't be upset.

But he doesn't, so he is.

Johanna walks to the door, opening it and grabbing her coat as she sighs, "Come on."

"What?"

Tugging her head toward the open door, she repeats herself, "Come on."

"Where are we going?" Despite the question, Derek stands and follows her to the door. She pushes him in the hallway, and he keeps walking, not looking back to see her lock the door.

"Just go."


	5. Of Gamete's Disease

**Title** La Fille Danse  
**Rating** PG-13 Still not M. I'm sorry...again.  
**Notes/Warnings/Kinks **Drinking. _Underaged_ drinking. Wo, ho, ho! Eh...I'm such a nerd.  
**Pairing **Derek/OFC, mentioned Casey/Sam

* * *

There are so many people speaking French people that it's giving Derek a headache. Cigarette smoke lingers in the air, visible under the lights in the wooden ceiling. Alcohol mixes with the smoke, strong and putrid and gaining easy entrance to Derek's nose.

As Johanna leads him through the tavern, he notices her head is down, hair falling in her face. It seems a little strange, considering Johanna usually walks confidently, chin up and hair pulled away from her face. Before Derek can contemplate any more on the subject, a tall, goateed man holds his hand out to the two, stopping them. He begins speaking (closer to shouting, Derek thinks bitterly) in French until Johanna looks up at him. Then he shuts up immediately before raising an eyebrow and nodding toward Derek.

"_Le garçon est avec moi_," Jo says calmly, cocking her head toward Derek and nodding.

"_Oui, bien sûr_," Then he smiles and nods towards Derek, pointing the two in the direction of the bar. "Please, sit."

The people in here are dark and mysterious, hanging out in the darkened corners of the all wooden bar. A few nod towards Johanna, who smiles and nods back.

What the fuck is up with all the nodding here?

The only lights come from the cheap, dim ones installed in the ceiling, and they don't help Derek's headache, especially when he's trying to look at Johanna through the smoke. "What is this place?"

When she turns to him, the smoke twirls around her face, reflecting the light from the light bulbs above them and giving her an almost unearthly glow. Her eyes seem bright and alert, although they gaze over the bar, the crowd—_Derek—_ slowly, taking her time to take in detail. Licking her top lip, Jo looks above Derek's head, scoping out the group of people walking in through the door. It's strange things like this—the sharp features of her jaw and the outline of her lips, the slight grin spread on her face, how long her fingers look when she taps them on the bar—that make Derek think she's one of the most beautiful creatures he's ever seen.

Since he was younger, Derek's been amazed by the female form. It's not so much a male hormonally driven passion, but rather a sheer fascination. The shape and the way it differs from a man's; the way a woman can turn all eyes on her with a cast in one's direction; the power that has always seemed to present itself in the stance of women…

Derek is absolutely in _love_ with the female form.

It's why Derek sleeps with so many girls, and why he turns his head to look at every inch of a woman's body. It's not that he's sick or perverted; it's that he is fascinated and sees the beauty in the deep curves and soft twists.

It's also why a lot of women like Derek. He pays attention to them, to their wants, to their needs and desires, and exploits them. Uses them. Indulges in them. He tries to figure out the mysteries of woman and he ends up unlocking them without knowing it. And the reason Derek likes his women "stupid?" He's terrified of what they'll say when they find out what he's really doing.

He's terrified they'll hate him for seeing who they really are.

"_Les Esprits du Diable_," Johanna glances around before leaning in closer to him so that he can hear her better, "The Spirit of the Devil. It's an all-French speaking tavern. Most of the people here, though, are Germans whose families fled during World War II."

Derek nods, understanding why he's never heard of the place until now. He still has another question, though, "So why'd this guy let us in?"

The man returns, though, setting down a shot glass of some dark liquid in front of Johanna. He then turns to Derek, "_Et pour tu, monsieur_?"

"Uh…" He turns to Johanna, whispering, "How do I say I want a beer?"

"_Il aura une bière, s'il vous plaît_," She orders for him before adding, "_Froid_." The man nods again and disappears behind the bar. "Cold, right?"

Derek finds himself catching on to the trend, nodding as he says, "Yeah."

Jo nods and downs her shot, wincing when she places the empty glass back down. At his confused look, she explains, "Whiskey."

_Oh. That makes sense_. "So…why'd this guy let us in, again?"

"The drinking age in Germany and France is 16, so they don't mind anyone 16 and up. It's just that no one 16 and up knows about this place, besides me, and now you."

He nods again as the man returns and places his beer in front of him, smiling at the two before disappearing to go assist another person at the bar.

"So your plan is to get me drunk of my ass so that I can have a hangover and not have to take the French quiz tomorrow?"

Jo laughs, shaking her head. "No. My plan is to loosen you up with some alcohol, since I'm_ sure _this is not your first time drinking," At this, Derek smirks, "And then you're going to mingle."

"Mingle?" He cocks an eyebrow, and already he doesn't like the plan.

Jo nods though, and smiles. "Mingle. In French."

* * *

About two or three beers later, Derek's feeling a little more laid-back and a little more buzzed. Johanna is on her second shot of whiskey, and she's still as alert as she was before she started drinking. Now she's ordering water every five minutes, downing the glasses as they come to her.

She leans over to speak into his ear, "Go talk to someone. Tell them you're learning French and you know English. Let them teach you."

--

The woman he's talking to is a gorgeous, cigarette-smoking, filled out French woman, who's taught him more French in 10 minutes than he's learned at all with Jo.

"_Je pense qu'elle vous veut_." Nanette purrs in his ear, and Derek turns to look at the bar. Sure enough, Johanna is heading toward the two, head down again as she passes strangers.

"Ready?" She asks when she gets beside him, smiling politely at Nanette. The two exchange a strange, understanding glance, and it makes Derek want to giggle like a school girl. Instead, he nods and begins to follow Johanna away from the group.

After they're a few feet away, Nanette calls out something to Johanna,

"_L'homme très intéressant, vous avez_."

Jo turns around, waiting a moment to shake her head and explain, "_Il n'est pas mon_—"

"_De cours ne pas, cher._" Nanette smirks and cuts her off with a wink,"_De cours ne pas_."

Johanna glances at Derek before lowering her eyes again, tugging his wrist as she pulls him out of the bar.

* * *

Translations:

"_Le garçon est avec moi_." **The boy is with me.**

"_Oui, bien sûr_." **Yes, of course.**

"_Et pour vous, monsieur_?" **And for you, sir?**

"_Il aura une bière, s'il vous plaît_. _Froid_." **He will have a beer, please. Cold.**

"_Je pense qu'elle vous veut_." **I think she wants you.**

"_Homme très intéressant, vous avez_." **Very interesting man, you have.**

"_Il n'est pas mon_—" **He's not my--**

"_Bien sûr ne pas, cher._ _Bien sûr ne pas_."** Of course not, dear. Of course not.**


	6. I'm Sure When I'm Older

**Title** La Fille Danse  
**Rating** PG-13, for safety.  
**Notes/Warnings/Kinks **Underwear. What a scary thought.  
**Pairing **Derek/OFC, mentioned Casey/Sam

* * *

Sam walks in with her on his arm, and it ignites a fire in Derek.

"Derek, man, what's up!" The blonde smiles at his best friend, waving at people as he enters. Johanna smiles softly at people that pass her, playing nervously with the bottom of her lose, dark gray tank top. Her other hand occupies itself by running through her hair, moving the soft waves back from her face.

"Not much, not much. Johanna, looking rather..._plain_ today, eh?" Derek flashes a sarcastic grin her way, only to have one returned to him.

"Looking rather _preoccupied_, eh, Derek?" Johanna asks, concentrating on something behind Derek's shoulder. He turns and,

It's Shelby. Again. "Hey baby. Let's dance."

Derek's pulled off to the middle of his living room, and although his body leaves that spot, his eyes don't.

* * *

She doesn't seem to notice his eyes burning into the back of her head for an hour.

"Are you listening to me?"

"What—er—yeah. Study hall?"

"Right. So in study hall…"

Shelby is cut out of Derek's mind yet again. Halloween—fucking _Halloween_—and he has nothing better to do but host a lame party at his house.

Alright, actually, it wasn't lame at all. George and Norah went to attend some couple's Halloween fest or something, and Casey was at Emily's, studying. All of Derek's friends, however, occupied the house to the point where everyone was always shoulder to shoulder with someone else. Lizzie got the task of keeping Marti busy upstairs, and Edwin was running around, keeping Derek's plan in motion.

It was…it was _awesome_.

Except for one little detail.

"Hey, Derek…" Jo's voice is soft and sounds a bit weary.

"Um, excuse me!" Shelby pipes up from behind Derek, "I was _talking_."

He turns to the red headed heathen, face hardened, "Shelby, why don't you go get us something to drink?"

Her face falls before her nose flares, "You are a _pig_, Derek. As soon as I get back, we're having a serious talk. Got it?"

After a sarcastic smile, he turns back to Johanna.

"What do you—" The plan is to be as much of a bitch to her as she was to him, but he quickly stops when he sees her with her eyes closed, palm over her forehead as she tries to steady her breath. "Are you alright?"

"Actually, no. I really don't feel well. I'm really over heated. Is it okay if I use Casey's shower and maybe sleep in her bed for a little while?"

It's a strange request, but Derek figures it's a "responsible decision" when one is used to living on their own.

"One shower upstairs. Towels in the closet inside."

She nods, face getting paler and paler by the minute, "Yeah. Thanks, Derek."

He shrugs, "Not a problem."

* * *

When Lizzie comes downstairs, Derek's surprised. Confused, even. She knows she's supposed to be upstairs with Marti, watching the youngin' and making sure she doesn't see what her older brother, her hero, does in his spare time.

"Lizzie, why aren't you upstairs!" He whispers harshly, squatting down to the girl's height. She sighs and crosses her arms defensively.

"Derek, one of your friends has been in the shower for over an _hour _now, and I _really _need to pee."

"In the shower?"

It takes a minute for the connection to be established. But once it is...

Derek runs quickly up the stairs, skipping some on his way. He knocks on the bathroom door loudly, calling, "Jo! Jo, are you in there?" and when there's no response, he panics.

Worst scenario, he walks in on Casey's friend naked in his shower. Best scenario, he walks in Johanna, naked, in his shower. It's a _bit _of a double edged sword, but Derek's one to take chances.

Opening the door slowly, he notices that the room is filled with steam. He sees no clothes on the floor and no one standing in the shower. Maybe she turned the shower on and then fell asleep in Casey's room.

But still, the water is beating down on _something_ other than the plastic floor of the tub. He can hear it.

He draws back the curtain, taking a second or two to assess the situation: Johanna, passed out in his shower, soaking wet and shaking, her nose bleeding, her entire front is covered in red stained water.

"Oh shit!"

He scoops her out of the tub, sitting down beside the toilet and cradling her in his lap like a child. "Lizzie!" he calls as loud as he can muster, "Lizzie, I need you to come here please!"

The girl slides into the door frame, gasping when she sees the teen in Derek's arms. "Lizzie," he says calmly, "I need you to go to George and Nora's room and grab the aspirin, gauze, thermometer, and a few towels, okay?"

She nods and runs out of the room as fast as her pre-pubescent legs can muster.

"Jo," he pats her gently on the face, reaching for toilet paper to wipe the blood of her face, "Jo, if you can hear me I need you to do something, okay? Say something or...or...or blink or s-s-something."

For a fleeting moment, her eyes open.

"Alright, Jo, stay with me, okay? Don't go back to sleep. Stay with me."

The urging is no use, and the girl's eyes close again, mouth opening slightly since air can't make it past the blood gushing out of her nose. Derek reaches for more toilet paper as he hears Lizzie make her way up the stairs.

He pinches the bridge of her nose and immediately notices the bleeding coming to an end. "Lizzie," he says as he stands, "go drop that stuff off in my room, okay? Then go stay with Marti and don't leave until I come get you."

* * *

Johanna looks different wet and passed out. Besides the obvious reasons, she looks more serene. Not on the edge of her seat. Not carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. Calm.

Cold and wet, Jo is lying across Derek's bed, and he realizes that he doesn't have a choice. As much as Derek likes to use that as an excuse, he really doesn't have a choice but to undress her. She can't stay in soaking wet clothes all night, especially when she's already shivering and running a fever.

_Keep it professional_, he reminds himself._ This is your tutor. You're some guy that goes to her school just trying to do the right thing._

He could call Casey and get her over here to do this, but that'd just be too much time. Especially since she's...

Only next door.

But still, she'd have to come all the way over and then go back but she wouldn't want to and blah blah blah big mess and at the end of the day it's just easier for Derek to do it, right?

_Right._

He starts with raising her tank top slowly off her body, revealing the pale skin underneath. He notices two symmetrical scars on both of her hips and, without thinking, reaches out to touch them. Her skin, soft and wet and cold, freezes Derek's finger tips. Reaching under her mid section to lift her as he pulls up farther, he glances to see the black lace bra covering her form.

_Have some pride, Venturi. You're not one to bend at the site of a bra. You've seen dozens. Don't let it phase you. It's just another girl. Just another body. Don't concentrate on it._

But he can't help it. The lace looks like just another layer of skin, her erect nipples noticeably poking against the fabric. His breathing turns into panting, and he has to scream at himself to just take the damn shirt off already.

Tossing the wet article of clothing on the ground, he takes a deep breath and prepares himself for the pants.

Derek undoes the button on Johanna's skinny jeans and immediately pulls them all the way off. No time for getting hot and bothered by all of this. Just get it off and get the job done.

But as soon as they are off, all hope is lost. The black lace on top matches the black lace on the bottom, and Derek think he really might lose his cool. Images rush through his head—those long, slender legs wrapped around him, nibbling on the soft skin sprawled out right in front of him on his own bed.

She groans and her eyes open again, "Derek?"

He panics. _How shady is this going to look?_

"Derek, I..." her eyes open and shut as she struggles to regain consciousness. "I'm cold."

"Yeah. Sorry. You're gonna be okay, Jo."

She nods and fades back into unconsciousness, leaving Derek to dress her almost naked body.

* * *

When he finally manages to get her in his pajama bottoms and a hoodie, Derek sighs and wipes a bead of sweat of his brow. He moves Johanna right side up and pulls his sheets back, tucking her in gently before glancing at his clock.

_2 AM. Shit._ He's got to get people out of his house before George and Nora get back.

"Derek," she whispers again as he opens his door, causing him to turn around and look at her, "Don't leave me alone." Her eyes close again, and Derek's tired of these one liners.

The words throw him off guard, and if he wasn't Derek Venturi, King and God of Women and the Female Race, he'd admit to his heart skipping a beat and his stomach doing a 180.

"I'll be right back, Jo," Walking back over to the bed, Derek bends over, moves Jo's hair out of her face, and kisses her on the forehead.

He leaves before she can protest and before he can let himself fall anymore.

* * *

**Now review, motherlickers!  
**


	7. I'll Know What that Means

**Title** La Fille Danse (translation will be found at the end of the _story_. NOT the chapter--the STORY)  
**Rating** PG-13 _for now_  
**Notes/Warnings/Kinks **A/N: Review. Please. Otherwise, I feel like me returning to this story is pointless.  
**Pairing **Derek/OFC, mentioned Casey/Sam

* * *

Derek feels disgusted.

Don't get him wrong, he's used to doing a lot of bad. Cheating, stealing, lying—been there, done that. But Derek's actually disgusted with himself.

_Kissing her on the forehead? Really? Really?!_

Pathetic. So middle school. So old couple. So not Derek.

Not personal attachment. It's like his mantra. _Sleep with them, look at them, flirt with them, but do not, I repeat, do not get attached to them._

Watching her in class is almost unbearable.

See, the thing about the whole situation is, Derek _didn't_ see Johanna naked. He saw her in clothing. No less than what he'd see if she went swimming. But the image keeps taunting him, invading his reality and disrupting even the deepest of thoughts. He even tries concentrating on his math in order to get his head off of the subject, but it always somehow links back to the night before.

The square root of 64 is eight. Eight divided by two is four. The square root of four is two. Two scars on her hips.

_Stop_.

The insides of a triangle add up to 180. Therefore, to be equilateral, all angles must be 60 degrees. Therefore, B squared equals A squared plus C squared minus C times the square root of 60 plus the bruise on her hip.

_Stop_.

Please use a blue or black panties.

Pen.

_Fuck_.

So, when Mrs. Foster pairs them up for the frog dissection, Derek's completely ambivalent towards the entire situation.

**Ambivalence n. - the coexistence within an individual of positive and negative feelings toward the same person, object, or action, simultaneously drawing him or her in opposite directions.**

He hates her. But he likes her.

He can't stand her, but he needs her.

She's not attractive, but he wants her.

There are no entries for anything like this in the Venturi Man Code. Derek's out of resources.

"Derek, I really appreciate you helping me the other night."

"You mean last night?"

"Look, I'm trying to be nice here, okay? Can't you just roll with the punches for once?" When he looks at her, he sees underneath the blue halter dress and straight to the curves being hugged by the material. Straight to the near naked back shown by the dress.

_Snap out._

"I could, but I won't. Do you still have my clothes?"

She picks up a scalpel, "Yeah, I'm washing them for you."

"Don't bother. You keep them. After all that blood and stuff, there's no telling what you contaminated them with."

"It's not like I have some contagious disease, Derek," Throwing down the instrument, Johanna is clearly angered. She sighs, "You, however, seem to be infected with Dick-itus."

"Funny. You know, I think I liked you better passed out."

"I think I liked you better passed out, too."

"Cute, kid. Why don't you just shut up and do the dissection, okay?"

"I'm not doing it on my own and letting you take credit for it."

"Well I'm sure as hell not helping you. I did enough of that changing your clothes," Derek rolls his eyes as he speaks, turning his head to look out the window.

And then it strikes him.

_Fucking **idiot**!_

"Ha ha, very fun—wait a minute. Changing my clothes? What do you mean?"

He turns back to her, eyes wide as he tries to search for a reasonable explanation, "I, uh...I..."

"Derek, you told me Casey changed my clothes," Johanna's stare is numbing, and the only connection Derek can make to it is Medusa. When he doesn't say anything, she steps closer to him. The expression of anger goes away and is replaced with nothing but pure hurt, "You...stripped me down while I was unconscious?"

"I didn't exactly have a choice, Jo."

"Oh, really? Because I'm pretty sure Casey was only five minutes away!"

The bell rings. They should be leaving the classroom with the rest of their schoolmates, but instead the two stay right where they are. Jo's hands are situated on her hips and Derek's are thrown in the air defensively, because, quite frankly, Derek's convinced he did nothing wrong.

In fact, Derek's convinced he did the _right_ thing, which is almost as disturbing.

Sure, he looked at Johanna nearly naked, and, sure, he took advantage of the situation, but at least he helped.

...Right?

"I was afraid, alright? Just be glad I even bothered pulling you out of the tub!"

"What the hell is your problem?!"

"I..."

He loses it.

It's a weird thing for Derek to break down and lose control of himself. Venturis are known to keep it together, be cool in times of extreme chaos. But this? This is too much.

Maybe it's because he saw her almost naked. Maybe it's because her forehead was soft, and he wants to apply that theory to the rest of her. Maybe it's because she's the only girl that's ever actually fought him off. Maybe it's because she's Johanna, and Derek likes her.

Whatever it is, Derek kisses her.

This isn't a dream. This isn't a fantasy. This is Derek Venturi, King of Men and All Things Love, putting his lips on Johanna Steiger, foreign exchange student, his French tutor, the girl some people call a lesbian because she shows no interest in Sex God Venturi. This is his arms around her, one hand twisting itself in her hair, their lips mashed together in something Derek has been dreaming about for too long.

This is Johanna pushing Derek off her, watching him flip backwards over a lab stool.

"What the _hell_ has gotten into you?!" She screams, running a hand through her hair and straightening her dress.

"Jo..." he stands up, straightening himself out, "I can--"

She shakes her head, disgust written over her face, and walks out.

_Good job, Venturi, you fuck up._

* * *

A/N: Slow, I know, but keep in mind this is an EPIC in the making. Review, bitte.


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